Squared
by KrimsonKitsu
Summary: Set in season one sometime after Cyberwoman. Ianto and Jack learn just what it would take to put aside the past.
1. The Setup

((Because for me, Ianto went from, "I'm going to kill you" to "Yays sex-buddies" way to easily… I'm sorry in advance… it's been a long time since I wrote in third person.))

It was damp. He felt the air penetrate his lungs, filling them and burning like salt water. He felt the grit lacing his lashes, and he opened his eyes slowly. Everything was so fuzzy.

He was inside. But where? Upstairs? No, that didn't feel right. He frowned. A cellar? Certainly more likely. But what cellar? He felt the chunks of rocks digging into his spine, and the icy finger of what felt like a spade pressed against the thin material of his pants leg. Where in the hell was he?

He tried to shift his leg and it was only then that the pain took front and center. He cried out, curling in on himself. His leg was stuck and he couldn't make out just what he was stuck in. He tried to pull the appendage free and the building groaned right along with him in response. He stopped immediately, hearing the walls settle precariously around him. He was trapped, seemingly hardwired directly into the heart of the building.

He pressed a clumsy hand to his earpiece. "Tosh?" His voice was choked, almost beyond recognition. "Toshiko?"

The silence that answered him was almost more painful than the ache in his leg. He fell back with a frustrated sigh. He closed his eyes. Think! How did he get there? Was he on an assignment? If so then he hadn't arrived here, wherever here was, alone. But who was he with? Tosh? Maybe Gwen? The image of Gwen in a formal gown, chewing out Jack, seemed to pop into his head. Something about having one date alone with her boyfriend. No, definitely not Gwen then.

He blanched slightly, just so long as it wasn't—

"Ianto?"

—Jack.

Damn.

He heard the man slowly picking his way through the ruined cellar. He heard the moment his foot slid on a piece of debris and heard the sound of Jack's muffled swearing, his stumbling footfalls growing ever closer.

Finally Jack climbed over the small wall of broken plaster and fell on top of Ianto with grunt. "Well, now it's a party," Ianto heard, rather than saw the smirk in his voice. But more than that, Ianto heard something else in Jack's voice—a breathlessness that he had never heard in his boss before. Jack rolled off of him. "You alright?" He asked.

"My leg… I think it's broken," Ianto replied, his voice coming out wrong.

And Jack noticed. His hand went to Ianto's head, running through his hair with a motion as tender as a caress.

"What are you doing?" Ianto protested, his stomach railing against the action. It felt profane so soon after Lisa.

"You're bleeding," Jack said, his hand pausing on the edge of an injury Ianto hadn't even been aware of yet.

"Probably a bit concussed then," he said in response. "What happened?"

"I dunno." Jack's words were accompanied by a heavy thud as he sat back. "But from what I can tell, we are trapped here until Tosh puts the pieces together and comes looking." His voice caught and Ianto twisted to look at him.

"Jack? What's wrong with you?" His voice died in his throat as his eyes finally snapped into focus.

Jack's hands were pressed around a piece of pipe which protruded from his lower abdomen. He shifted slightly as though he felt Ianto's gaze on him. The silence between them stretched on in the darkness. Ianto was beginning to wonder if Jack had passed out from blood loss when he finally spoke again.

"Ianto?"

"Yes?"

"Can you reach your gun?"


	2. The Man of his Word

((Sorry it's so short. This almost ended up being a dialogue exercise… I hope no one kills me for my characterization. Oh, and thank you all for reading and faving and (best of all) reviewing! You all are awesome!))

"A gun?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"My gun?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"You want my gun?"

"No."

"No?"

"No," Jack paused for a second. "I want you to shoot me with it."

Ianto didn't reply, wasn't sure he had heard him correctly. "Shoot you," he repeated.

"Yes, shoot me," Jack said. "The sooner I die the sooner I can come back and we can try to get out of here."

Ianto feel silent again, a strange heat digging into his chest. "That's not the only reason, is it?"

"Excuse me?"

They remained, broken men in a broken room, eying each other. Ianto's eyes gleamed in the darkness.

"You're in pain," he said softly. "You're suffering… you're looking for a quicker end."

Jack stiffened. "What are you saying?"

"You've forgotten?" Ianto's voice was harsh. "I promised you, didn't I?"

The threat of the past, shouted in desperation, echoed in the silence.

"So you plan on letting me bleed out slowly," Jack murmured, closing his eyes. "A man of your word… normally I would find that so sexy." He chuckled, then groaned and seemed to curl inward. Ianto waited for the diatribe, the disappointment, the anger that was certainly heading for him.

"If…" Jack paused, panting slightly. "If we do this… you sit back while I 'suffer and die,' would that make us even?"

Ianto frowned. He hadn't expected that answer. "What?"

"If you keep your promise… get your revenge… does that square us?"

Ianto closed his eyes; he could hear it, though Jack was doing his best to hide it. He was definitely suffering. For the first time since Ianto had met him, Jack Harkness was vulnerable. He nodded, shifting slightly and reaching behind himself.

"Yeah, that'd square us," he replied softly, his jaw tightening.

"Good," Jack leaned back, with the resignation of someone waiting for the inevitable.

"Right then," Ianto murmured, bringing his arm back around. There was a soft metallic click, and he saw Jack's eyes snap open. Even in the darkness, he could see the confusion shining in his gaze.

Both were surprised by the shot. Ianto lowered his hand and closed his eyes and waited.


	3. The thoughts of the invisible

The Thoughts of the Invisible

It had gotten colder.

Ianto frowned, trying to decide just how much time had passed. He had cradled the gun against his chest like a talisman, but it had lost its warmth a long time ago. His back ached, the muscles knotted against the icy touch of the concrete below him. But his leg had gone numb; Ianto knew that was probably a bad thing, but he breathed a sigh of relief anyways. The pulsing pain had been driving him mad.

He looked back at the lifeless form of Jack—in the darkness he could almost believe he saw movement.

He tried not to think. Thinking was dangerous in times like this— and he was with Jack. Jack was especially dangerous—his very presense could twist a normal person's mind into a knot—one that would take days to untangle. Ianto had questions, always had questions, when it came to Jack Harkness. Ianto knew he had plans—some sort of hidden endgame—the others didn't see it; but Ianto knew.

Because it was Ianto who made the arrangements, who took care of the skeletons and tied up the loose ends at the end of the day. And one can't be a fix-it man without accidentally uncovering a secret or two. In Jack's case, he'd learned a great deal of sticky little secrets. But they only made Ianto more confused—there was no pattern to them, no thread that Ianto could follow.

And he was good at following patterns. Those patterns were his secret weapon. He'd learned long ago that true freedom was invisibility. And to be invisible, one must find every person's blind spot, the point in the pattern that they aren't aware of themselves.

He'd uncovered Owen's first. The doctor thought—no doubt still thought—that he had hidden it well. But his personality, his pride, had given himself away. Ianto smiled to himself; Owen had been the easiest to manipulate. All Ianto had to do was appear insignificant and Owen almost completely disregarded him.

Toshiko had been a bit more difficult. Her insecurity had proven difficult to skirt around and her intelligence made her irritatingly observant. She had wired the Hub into an intricate nerve system of cameras and security checks the likes of which Torchwood-London could never have imagined. Perhaps if her web had been in place there…. Ianto swallowed mechanically, but his throat seemed to rub against itself like sandpaper.

Gwen Cooper. Well he hadn't really learned Gwen just yet. But she was still new, still obsessed with her quests and still juggling two very different worlds. She didn't know just what counted as normal in Torchwood yet so Ianto had been able slide by her with relative ease. He supposed that would have changed eventually, but he didn't doubt that he could fade into the background with her as well.

But Jack… as far as Ianto could tell, Jack had no blind spot, and definitely not when it came to him. Ianto got the sense that Jack's eyes were always on him—that he was always aware of Ianto, no matter what he was doing. That alone bothered him. In a lifetime of being invisible, he was suddenly thrown into a constant spotlight. But why?

Ianto closed his eyes, suddenly feeling woozy. He wasn't in any condition to think like this. The build creaked and groaned around him, but otherwise he couldn't hear anything else. Not his breathing and certainly not Jack's. He wanted to hear Jack's.

He really wanted to hear Jack's.


	4. The Folly of Preconception

((New installment. Whee! Hope you all like it, this was my first time writing for Mr. Enigmatic himself, Jack Harkness. Please let me know how it went. As always, your favs and reviews are a huge inspiration so please, don't stop now. And most importantly, I hope you enjoy.))

~~~~~~~~xXx~~~~~~~

Jack Harkness hated coming back. He'd always imagined that it would be warm somehow, but instead the cold seemed to penetrate every cell of his body. He let out a groan, his hand reaching for the offending object protruding from his abdomen. He really hated this part.

"Hey, Ianto?" He gasped, trying for levity. "You think the dry cleaner has a frequent flyer program? I must have reached the 10,000 mark by now—" He choked back a scream as he pulled out the pipe and the silence was punctuated by his ragged gasps—only by his ragged gasps. "I-Ianto?" He managed again.

But there was no reply. Jack squinted through the darkness, his heart pounding. He never should have brought the boy along. He had just been so quiet… so frighteningly quiet after the incident with his girlfriend. But it more than that, if Jack was to be honest, it was much more than that.

He'd always considered himself a good judge of character. But Ianto somehow managed to overturn every preconception. And to think that he had dismissed the boy as average. But it was the great deception—the incredible act that Ianto had lived for months—that was the one Jack was still trying to figure out. Perhaps if he spent more time with Torchwood's guard dog, he might get some insight into the boy, anything to shed some light onto the subject.

Yeah, that plan worked out well. Jack groaned, painfully crawling the last foot that separated him from the boy. His eyes were finally adjusting to the dark, though his lungs protested violently to the damp. He paused to cough before finally reaching his pinned assistant.

He found Ianto's hand first, splayed out over the debris. The chill in those callused fingers frightened Jack and he cradled it for a moment, pondering that hand. Somehow, he never imagined such a manicured man having such a rough touch—just another preconception. Jack swallowed heavily, afraid to see when he finally looked to Ianto's face.

Funny. After so many decades, Jack had thought that he had prepared himself for the inevitability of death.

"Ianto?"He murmured, kissing the boys palm, heart still pounding, still betraying him.

He wasn't ready for this.


	5. The Leak

((I know, another update from me? Holy cow, down-under must have frozen over. I'm not sure why, but I am in a serious Torchwood thing right now. Thank you again for your support!))

~~~~~~~xXx~~~~~~~

It was soothing, this darkness, and Ianto just felt so damned tired. His eyelids ghosted over his aching eyes, spreading over them like a bed sheet—luring him off to sleep. He stopped feeling cold an hour ago and stopped feeling pain long before that; now he was just so…

Something tugged on his hand and, for a moment, Ianto panicked, his muddled mind jumping to scenes of his helpless body being torn apart by rats the size of poodles. But then he felt the warmth of a human breath wisp across his palm and felt the tender kiss—kiss?—on his icy flesh.

Jack's voice felt so distant that Ianto almost didn't recognize it. He didn't catch the word, but he did catch the pain in his voice. It startled him. Jack Harkness did not feel regret, or grief. He plunged on through whatever crisis he faced with a smirk and a quip. He certainly did not _cry. _

Jack's voice grew closer, but his words were no less muffled. Ianto frowned, it was like he had been incased in concrete and tossed into the bay; he couldn't move, couldn't hear, couldn't see. His eyes blinked bemusedly into the inky darkness. He, Ianto Jones, was dying.

That should have scared him (it certainly seemed to have scared the emotionless Captain Jack) but Ianto felt nothing but relief. Even before Torchwood, he'd always known he'd die young; he didn't have the constitution for a long life. Now that the moment was upon him, Ianto was surprised at how easy it was.

Until Jack ruined it all.

Ianto never saw the Captain's hand, he only felt the burning sting of the slap spread across his cheek , bringing to light just how cold he really was. He shivered and suddenly everything was back into painful focus.

"Jack?" He whispered, his eyes meeting those of his leader (it took him a moment to realize that Jack was crouched over him.) He winced, feeling a drop land on his cheek, burning as it slid down his face. An overhead pipe must have sprung a leak or something, because Captain Jack Harkness never cried. Never.

"Good to see you too," came Jack's voice, all sunshine and banter and Ianto was certain now that there was a leaky pipe. How silly to think that Captain Jack would cry, much less over a traitor.

" You've come back," Ianto rasped out, needlessly.

"Yeah, I'm back," Jack laughed, his hands still caressing Ianto's hair. "Someone needed to look after you, right. I can't lose my Ianto."

His? Ianto blinked again, he'd been so distracted by the Captain's touch that he'd almost missed that. "I'm not yours," he protested. "I'm not anyone's… no one needs me…" He was drifting again.

Another slap. "I need you, Ianto Jones."

"You were going to shoot me," Ianto replied, his tired mind trying to keep up. He was certainly dreaming now. "You were going to put me down without batting an eye."

Jack laughed again and more drops landed on Ianto's face. Damn that pipe. "You are so naive sometimes, Ianto," he chuckled, leaning over to kiss Ianto's forehead.

Ianto should have protested, should have at least attempted to push him off. Should have… but it felt _good._ Better than the darkness, and better than the sleep that kept tugging at him.

He smiled up at Jack weakly and Jack's chest seemed to hitch in what Ianto would have considered a sob. But that's absurd.

Jack Harkness does not cry after all.

~~~~~~~xXx~~~~~~~

((And yes I know that Jack can be a fountain at times, but as far as I know, Ianto's never been in a position to see it, at least not up to this point. XD))


	6. The talk

((If you are happy to get the new update, thank my supplemental. They're also to thank for me cleaning my room, doing my laundry, and balancing my budget. Gotta love procrastination. In any case, enjoy! I hope you like it. As always, please review, fav, and follow!))

xXx

Jack liked to talk. Sometimes Jack liked to talk too much. By Ianto's second month of employment, they had developed something of a ritual. Long after the others had left for the night, Jack would vacate his office in favor of the beaten common room couch, and, more specifically, for Ianto. (Although Ianto still firmly believes that any warm body would have done.) And as Ianto picked his way through the daily debris, courtesy of his coworkers, Jack would talk. His face would light up as only Jack's could and his hands would draw intricate shapes in the air, conjuring exotic worlds with nothing more than memories. At first, Ianto would try to beg off, to find any excuse to escape to the downstairs storage room. Such excuses included readying the coffee machine, cataloguing some artifacts, and once—in an act of desperation—delousing Janet. (He paid dearly for that one, as it quickly became another of his routine chores.) But as the nights dragged on, Ianto found himself more and more loathed to disappear into the depths, where his only company was the soft beeps and mechanical whirs and vacant eyes. Towards the end, Ianto let himself become ensnared in the tales of Captain Jack Harkness. He became Jack's willing audience, drinking in the details as though they could magically erase the reality of his life. He focused on the lilt of Jack's voice, rather than the guilt that had been eating a hole into his chest. He allowed each word to push aside the stinging silence that had dogged him every minute he was spent in the flat that felt more like a mausoleum than a living space.

Ianto had liked to talk too, once. Lisa had been his audience back then, encouraging him with warm eyes and her arching laughter. She loved his humor, his wit. "You are a twisted man, Ianto Jones," she'd tease, the fondness in her voice sapping the bite from her words. Some nights, they would lie awake, limbs tangled together under the comforter as the rain beat a rhythm against the window pane, and Ianto would tell stories. Lisa, born and raised in London, loved the tales he told of Wales so he would talk. He'd talk until her voice grew distant and her head grew heavy against his chest. More mornings than not they would wake to yet another chunk of plaster loosed from the ceiling, to yet another puddle of water pooling on their linoleum. Lisa would laugh, tugging on her hose as Ianto railed against their flat in Welsh. She would smile and pick out his tie as he promised her a better place, perhaps even a little garden. Back then Ianto liked to talk about the future.

Nowadays he doesn't talk. The past is just too painful and there is no future, not so far as he can tell anyways. Nowadays he prefers to let the others do the talking. Better to let those whose world hadn't ended in a swirl of blood and fire and destruction tell the stories. Ianto didn't like to talk anymore.

Except that now Jack needed him to talk.

"Come on, Ianto, stay awake," Jack was crouched over his wrist-strap, struggling to make out the readings. "Come on, keep talking. Just talk, Ianto Jones. I have a plan and it's brilliant and we're going to get out of here, so just keep talking."

Ianto swallowed and his throat clenched against the action, imploring him not to repeat it. He needed water and he wanted a bed. Jack was right next to him, his knee brushing against Ianto's hand, but he felt so distant. Ianto couldn't see him, couldn't see anything. His head hurt and his leg throbbed and all he wanted to do was forget, to drift off and pretend that the last two years had never happened.

"Ianto!"

Ianto's eyes snapped open and he let out a groan.

"Sir?"

"Talk to me." Jack's voice was insistent, no way was he going to let up. Ianto let out a ghost of sigh.

"We're trapped under a pile of rubble," he rasped. "What would you like me to talk about, the weather?" Jack smothered a laugh as he picked up a small iron rod to write out an equation in the dust that carpets the ground.

"That's it, Jones, keep up the witty banter." He replied absently. " I missed it."

They both stiffened in tandem as Jack's words took hold. In the dark and the clinging damp, they had forgotten. The hateful words, the pointed guns, the kiss that had never been explained. Ianto closed his eyes as the ache in his chest overrode all other discomfort. Beside him, Jack returned to his calculations.

The silence was painful, a chasm that threatened to swallow them both. For the first time, Ianto felt a nameless panic rise in his throat. If he didn't speak now, if he didn't find some way to explain to Jack to…

Jack blinked, feeling Ianto's hand on his wrist. His fingers were still cold and caked with grit and dust and what Jack prays fervently is just mud. "Ianto?"

"Don't," Ianto whispered, tugging on Jack's sleeve until Jack gave in.

"Ianto? What is it?" He replied, his eyes locking on his assistant. His assistant, who had smooth-talked his way into Torchwood, who had lived a deception for months, the assistant, who Jack had threatened to shoot like a dog, the assistant, who still made Jack's heart pound in his chest.

Ianto didn't reply. Instead, he tugged Jack down further, bringing their lips together, a feverish and desperate affair. His lips pled for absolution without uttering a word.

Because Ianto wasn't really too fond of talking after all.


	7. The Silence

((I am so sorry that it took so long.=.= Things have been hectic. But in any case, I promise that I'll be finishing this within the next few weeks. Until then, you all rock and I'm so grateful for your reads, your favs, and your comments. Thank you so much and be safe during this holiday.))

Jack Harkness feared silence more than anything. The darkness, he could use, he'd learned how to mold it to his uses; it became a weapon. But silence terrified him.

While he was alive, he could always find something to listen to—the bicker and banter of his team, the hiss and groans of the overhead pipes in his office. Anything.

The only thing that was completely silent was death. It was the silence that clung to Jack, long after the first gasping breath had invaded his lungs and the warmth had returned to his fingers and toes. It haunted his thoughts and chased away sleep. He kept himself busy, kept himself smiling, because it was the only way to keep the others around, to ward away that dreadful silence.

And now it had taken Ianto.

"Hey now," Jack rasped, through chapped lips that still tasted of him. "No sleeping on the job, I'm not paying you to take naps, you know?" He didn't look up from his calculations, couldn't face it yet. Ianto's hand rested, cold and still, on Jack's thigh. Jack's jaw clenched as though he could physically bar the truth from entering and taking hold.

Instead he focused on the task at hand—getting his team's attention. He groaned and erased his last set of his calculations, squinting against the flickering light of the torch that Ianto had kept in his pocket. (Because Ianto Jones was nothing if not prepared.) "Just give me a second, Ianto…" he frowned thoughtfully. "If I adjust the last two lines and compensate here…" He looked back to his wrist and gave the device a tweak. After a breathless moment, the thing whirred to life, beeping and singing into the darkness.

"I did it!" Jack rejoiced, euphoria pounded hot in his veins. He grabbed Ianto's hand, because it was all going to be all right, because there was no other way it could go. "I told you that I was brilliant. Now all they have to do is track the signal and dig us out. We'll get you patched up in no time."

But there was no answer. Jack swallowed heavily and finally looked away from his work. Ianto had gone so pale. His dark eyelashes lay splayed out against bloodless cheeks. Splotches of red marred his skin looking as profane as blood in snow. He was still, so terribly still. Jack swallowed again.

He'd failed.

He'd sworn that his time as the head of Torchwood would not be spent wading through the blood of his own team. He thought that he'd learned better, thought that he was smart enough not to relive the same mistakes that had plagued his predecessors. But the morgues were filling up faster than he'd wanted. As far as his team went, Ianto would be the second. The second life he'd overlooked, the second one he'd thrown away, the second one he should have prevented. The ghost of Ianto's lips against his taunted him.

"Come on, Ianto," Jack pleaded, sliding over so that he could gingerly collect the boy into his arms. Ianto's face was still lax, all of the crinkles smoothed away. The transformation was not lost on Jack, who pressed a soft kiss to Ianto's temple. Strange. He'd commented on Ianto's age so many times, but it was only then, cradling his limp body in the wreckage of an old building, that it truly sunk in. Despite all his wit, all his detached mannerisms, all of his cold efficiency, Ianto Jones was a child.

A child that was currently dying in the arms of his leader. Jack crouched over him, his hands tightening, fisting the torn and gritty fabric. Time was a strange animal, he had no way of telling whether it had been minutes or hours since he'd managed to send out his distress signal. Minutes would be too short to have rounded up a rescue effort, hours would be too long to save both of them. Jack pressed a hand to Ianto's chest, timing each shallow breath. Wouldn't be long at this rate.

"I'm sorry I got you into this," Jack whispered. "Seems like nothing can go right between us. Hell, we've been fighting each other from the beginning, huh?" He laughed and brushed the matted hair from the too-cold forehead. "Do me one favor, Jones…" Jack paused, his lips settling into a hard line. "Repay me for letting you into Torchwood, Jones. Let's start over, let me be the kind of man that deserves your trust, your loyalty."

His breathing echoed raggedly as he touched his forehead to Ianto's. "Let's start over, Jones." He's bargaining now, he knew it. (Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered in this dank wreckage.) "Our team is coming, Ianto. Don't you dare die before we have a chance to fix everything."

His words fade into the darkness. Above him, the first vibrations sent trembles through the decimated structure. It was the first signs of rescue, of life, of the noisy world above. But, inside their cage of crumpled cement and tangled metal, there was only silence.

And Jack Harkness was drowning in it.


	8. The Interlude

((I think this will be the second to last installment of "Squared", and I am so grateful for all of the people who have read, favorited, and reviewed this piece—you people rock my world! If I might make a request—I definitely work better with other people to keep me on track—so I could definitely use a beta. If you know anyone or have an inclination yourself, I would be greatly appreciative and would even be willing to return the favor. PM me if interested.)

xXx

One might think, given Ianto Jones' propensity for organization, that he would love repetition. But as he lay there, the cold oxygen being fed into his lungs by tube and tanks, and listened to rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, Ianto couldn't imagine a thing that he hated more. His eyes itched. His mouth was dry and his lips were cemented together. He just wanted to go back to sleep, he could feel the seductive call of the morphine singing in his veins. He wanted to give in.

Except that damned monitor wouldn't let him.

Ianto was giving serious thought to just unplugging the damned thing when the door opened. For a brief moment, Ianto thought (hoped) that it would be Jack. He was certain he could convince his leader to let him be rid of that infernal machine.

"Don't even think about it," Owen Harper's voice cut through the drug-induced haze. Ianto took a moment to shift his focus from the machine to the white-coat. It took longer for him to focus on the person wearing it.

"I'm sorry," Ianto found it very easy to feign blank ignorance. "I have no idea what you are talking-"

"Don't give me that," Owen glowered, grabbing Ianto's hand irritably to readjust the pulse oximeter on his finger. "Jack's got it rigged so that if there's so much as a skipped heartbeat, the whole damned hub lights up on alert. It's the only bloody way we could get him to go back to work."

"Go back to work?" Ianto repeated vaguely with a frown.

"Yes, go back to work," Owen said, flopping into his chair with a gusty sigh."It's been close to a week and a half since we managed to dig you and Jack out of that junk heap you two got yourselves stuck in."

"Impossible! I—" Ianto tried to sit up, but the cocktail of drugs running through his system ordered him back down. He obeyed and slid back onto his pillows with the world tilting dangerously around him. Through muffled ears, he could hear Owen swearing. He could feel the doctor's hands flutter over him, adjusting the cadre of tubes and monitors that seemed to snake out of him.

"Idiot!" Owen finished and returned to his chair. Even through drug-clouded eyes, Ianto knew the doctor was glaring at him. "Look, this isn't some stupid scrape with a weevil, you didn't just get roughed up a bit. You almost died. In fact, you're bloody lucky that you have a brilliant doctor and an arsenal of intergalactic goodies in your corner, because otherwise you probably _would _have. A crushed leg, a severed femoral artery, cerebral edema, ketoacidosis—I don't even know how you survived long enough for us to drag you out."

"I was under orders," Ianto replied wryly.

"Since when do you follow orders?" Owen shot back.

"It must have been the cerebral edema," Ianto said with a bitter smile. There was a tense pause as the two realized in tandem that this was the longest conversation that they'd ever sustained. Ianto smoothed out the wrinkles in his blanket and Owen busied himself with Ianto's chart. It seemed that their exchange had become a battle to keep the silence, to go back to that happy mutual exclusion that had characterized so much of their relationship.

Ianto broke first, his curiosity too tempting to ignore.

"Did you all ever figure out who—or what was behind the explosion?" He asked.

"Not yet," Owen admitted. "We're pretty sure it was alien tech, but we're still trying to reconstruct whatever device was responsible." Ianto frowned and opened his mouth to ask just what schematics they'd come up with when Owen, no doubt guessing Ianto's intent, scoffed.

"What part of 'Jack will have my head on a pike if anything happens to you' are you not getting?" He asked irritably. "Stop trying to get up, stop trying to work, stop trying to act as though nothing has changed. Everything's changed, Ianto! And it's time we all fucking deal with it!"

Ianto paused, unsure of what to say. His mind couldn't quite translate the doctor's words into something that made sense. He scoured the man before him, looking for any familiar ground to build from. Owen Harper looked the same—down to the stupid pins attached to his lab coat. He still had that natural sneer in his lips, which told the world exactly what he thought of it. His eyes were still dark and sharp, like flecks of obsidian. There was only one critical difference. For the first time since they'd worked together, Owen Harper's attention was focused solely on him.

Ianto wasn't quite sure how to feel about that.

xXx

((Hoped you all enjoyed the brief foray into the delightfully twisted relationship of Owen and Ianto… I do so love them. Thanks again for reading.))


	9. The Conclusion

((All good things must come to an end. Thank you so much for your continued support, your favorites, your follows and your reviews (especially PadawannaB, it has been an honor to be regarded so highly by someone I also respect.) Also, special thanks, to SarahCat1717 and tomchyk who were kind enough to beta—your comments and suggestions were incredibly insightful and I owe you so much. You both were invaluable and "thanks" is nowhere near enough to express my gratitude. Now there's nothing left to say but it's been a heck of a trip—see you on the other side.))

xXx

Chapter 9: The Conclusion

There were some things that even Torchwood couldn't fix. As it turned out, Ianto Jones was one of them.

"We've done what we can," Owen had said as he helped Ianto hobble up the last few steps to his flat. "Now it's up to you and time."

He hadn't been back to his flat since; he was too proud to admit that he couldn't surmount the obstacle of three flights of stairs on a daily basis. If he was being honest—and there was little use lying to himself while he snuck through the long forgotten corridors of the Hub—it was more than that. His flat had never been more than storage for his clothes and food. He'd bought it, certain that one day he'd bring Lisa back to it, but now he only kept it for appearances' sake. The Hub was the only place for someone whose life had been utterly wrecked by the preternatural (which was still Ianto's working hypothesis as to why Jack chose to call the Hub home). Even before the incident that nearly killed him, Ianto spent more nights ferreted away in the Hub than in his own bed.

Honestly, he'd expected it to be far more difficult to maneuver in secret, especially after Lisa. But for the most part, he was met with little resistance. The girls were the simplest; as long as he went out for a pint with them at least once a week and carried on with a smile, they wouldn't think to pry. Owen was surprisingly harder to fool, every so often Ianto could feel the doctor's gaze on him, _evaluating _him. Every time Ianto met his gaze, he could feel the grudging camaraderie between them. He'd come across Owen's file a few weeks after he'd started work at Torchwood, and even then, as he stood crouched over the dusty paper, he couldn't help but notice the similarities between the both of them. And now, after Lisa, it was entirely possible that the only person on the planet who might be able to understand Ianto's situation was Owen—so Ianto began avoiding him as much as possible. (The last person he wanted to be was Owen Harper.)

And the entire time he'd avoided Owen, Jack avoided Ianto. It was actually something of a surprise to Ianto; he'd originally thought Jack would be the hardest to evade. But Jack had remained steadfastly out of Ianto's sight, either holed up in his office or out running cases with his team. The most Ianto ever saw of him was the five minutes each day that Jack took to descend to Ianto's workstation and order his usual extra-strength coffee. The first few nights that Ianto had slept in the Hub, he'd taken great pains to sneak in, even more meticulously than when he'd been storing Lisa next to the outdated computer parts. However, after night after night of an absent Jack, Ianto considerably relaxed his efforts. By the end of the second week, Ianto had begun nursing a pint at a local pub for an hour or so after the others departed before simply strolling back to Hub to bunk in one of the forgotten cells.

It should have been perfect. Jack had made no mention of what had transpired between the two of them, content perhaps to chalk it up to a fluke—an effect of too little oxygen perhaps. Still, after months of working under Jack's constant surveillance, the sudden inattention was jarring. Ianto was no fool; he saw the opportunity that Jack had laid at his feet—the chance to keep things between them as stationary as it had always been. If he wanted to be free of whatever tangled mess they'd gotten caught up in under the piles of rubble, he could. He was also aware that it was probably for the best; Jack being immortal and open to doing just about anything that gave him the green light, and Ianto being the broken little traitor that he was. No one had to tell Ianto that anything other than a professional relationship with Jack was a bad idea; Ianto was fully aware of that. Sometimes, Ianto would even try to remind himself that he hated Jack Harkness. He tried to remind himself that Jack had thrown thown Lisa to oblivion without so much as an attempt to save her, that he'd taken away everything that had meant anything to the Welshman. He was supposed to hate Jack Harkness, not fantasize about him.

But as Ianto drifted to sleep at night, he dreamt of Jack's fingers threading through his hair. He dreamt of the way Jack's lips felt against his, of the heat of his tongue as it invaded Ianto's mouth, of how his caress might feel against his thigh. Every morning he awoke, gasping and aching for more, and his resolve to keep a healthy distance between himself and Captain Jack Harkness became just a bit less sturdy.

That night began just like any other. Ianto hobbled through the dank and darkened tunnel, clutching his cane in his hand. He set up in Cell 328, wrote down the day's events in his journal by the light of an electric lantern, and turned in, settling onto the small cot and pulling the scratchy sheet around him. He was very nearly asleep when the soft but unmistakable click of the cell door latching into place registered in his mind. Ianto sat up instantly, his mind reeling, panicking; until he caught a glimpse of Jack Harkness leaning against the wall facing Ianto's cell. Ianto felt his breath catch. Even in the underbelly of the Hub, Jack's eyes sparkled, and that enigmatic smile of his was firmly in place—Ianto wasn't sure whether to be worried or aroused. He stood at attention, waiting for Jack to start, to crack some joke, or pass some judgement… anything.

They stood in silence for what felt like hours, each one regarding the other warily, waiting for the other to break. Ianto thought back to his confrontation with Owen and began to wonder if every conversation included a showdown, or if it was just the ones that he took part in.

This time Jack was the one to surrender first. "I have just one question," he said, looking around the darkened cell block with a critical eye. "There's just one thing that's been bothering me."

"Yes, sir?" Ianto replied, determined to go down with dignity, despite the fact that his boss had just found him camping out in a prison cell in his pyjamas.

"Back in the basement… how did you know I'd come back? I hadn't told anyone about my secret," Jack said, finally meeting Ianto's gaze. Ianto felt a bit like a tree must feel when it meets a bulldozer. "Gwen knows, but only because I miscalculated and took a bullet to the head while we confronted Suzy—"

"I know," Ianto interrupted softly, as he shifted slightly, his bad leg still shaking under his weight. "I saw the footage—you ordered me to comb through the CCTV of that night, remember?"

Jack paused, looking thoroughly perplexed. "You're joking," he said finally. "I wouldn't have been so careless." Ianto stifled a snort, Jack would be exactly that careless. Honestly, if it hadn't been for Ianto's quick clean- up work, half of Cardiff would know about Jack's secret.

"You had a lot on your mind," Ianto said calmly. "It's understandable."

Even in the dim light, Ianto saw Jack grimace. "So that's when you found out?"

"Yes." Actually Ianto had unearthed Jack's file about a week into his employment at Torchwood. Despite what Jack said about his 'secret', it was all too easy to find the proof. Or was, until Ianto Jones had buried it.

"Oh." They lapsed into another round of silence. Ianto, effectively trapped within the cell, had little to do but wait. Jack sighed and glanced around, his hands shoved firmly into his pockets, looking for all the world like an uncomfortable schoolboy.

"Ianto, can I ask you something?" he asked finally, his hand sliding along the glass of the cell.

"Do I have a choice?" Ianto replied hesitantly, as his eyes followed the smudge that trailed behind Jack's fingers.

"Of course," Jack said with a shrug. "But then, I don't have to let you out until it's time for our morning coffee. I'm sure the others will wonder where you are..."

Ianto felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought of his teammates finding him locked away in the cell. "What would you like to know?" he asked, sighing in resignation. "I'm an open book."

Jack let out a sharp booming laugh. "I truly doubt that, Ianto Jones."

Ianto glowered at him. "Just ask."

Jack's smile wilted slightly. "Fine," he replied with a sharp look of his own. "How is it that I keep happening across you, hidden away in my Hub? I've been keeping track of you these past few weeks, and I think you've spent nearly every night here except perhaps one."

"Everyone has to have a laundry day," Ianto replied glibly.

"You have a perfectly good flat. I've seen it." Jack countered, pointedly ignoring Ianto's jab.

"I do."

Jack's eyes leveled sternly on Ianto. "So then why are you holed up in an abandoned cell?"

Ianto closed his eyes. There was no evading this one. "Because there is no other place for me," he replied, through gritted teeth. "Because after all that I've seen, all that I've done, how can I go back? How can I clean up Torchwood's messes, dump bodies, wipe memories, then go back to that empty flat? What would I do?" Ianto's eyes flashed open, sending a clear challenge to Jack. "Heat up some dinner? Watch crap telly? Fall asleep alone in a bed that I bought to be shared?" His head shook sharply. "Torchwood has been all I've known for nearly all my adult life. How the hell am I supposed to pretend to be normal?" Jack was silent, his eyes hooded from Ianto's view. Ianto let out a frustrated noise, feeling very much like an animal in a cage. "Tell me, Jack." He challenged, smacking his hand against the glass. "You are always so quick to dole out advice. So advise me! What do I do? How do I go about being normal when I have nothing to go back to?!" He hit the glass again, the sound echoing achingly in the quiet.

Jack hand slowly slid over the same glass, his fingers ghosting over the pane and coming to a pause facing Ianto's clenched hand. His eyes seemed to lift on their own accord, as though being dragged upwards to face the boy imprisoned in his cell, chained to his Hub. Ianto, perhaps for the first time, caught the remorse - , the festering regrets - , in Jack's gaze as he stared at him.

"I don't know," Jack finally replied, his voice sounding raw-Ianto hadn't heard him sound like that since the cellar. Jack's hand drifted back to the side of the cell and Ianto heard the mechanical locks unlatch once more. Jack squared his shoulders, and just like that, the authority figure was back. "I expect my coffee by eight o'clock sharp, each morning. You are also free to use my shower-I don't want to imagine what the ones down here are like."

"Sir?" Ianto wasn't sure if he'd heard Jack correctly.

"You don't have to stay here in the cells," Jack replied curtly, as though Ianto hadn't spoken. "But the Hub is yours, for as long as you want it." His face finally relaxed into a roguish grin, one that Ianto couldn't help but return with a shy smile of his own. Jack actually chuckled and shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "Who knows, it might be nice to have another warm body to keep me company at night."

Ianto fought the urge to swallow heavily at the implication. "No doubt Janet and Myfanwy are hardly good drinking mates."

Jack snorted. "Yes, their conversation is horrible." He shrugged again with an exaggerated sigh. He began to walk away, but only took a few steps before pausing and turning back. "Oh, and Ianto?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget, eight o'clock-"

"Sharp," Ianto finished smoothly, a fragile smile gracing his features. "I will be there, Sir."

xXx

The next morning, Ianto went about his morning routine of spooling up the Hub and feeding Myfanwy and Janet before carefully climbing the stairs to Jack's office, coffee-tray perfectly balanced on one hand and his cane tightly grasped in the other. He knocked politely before letting himself in., Jack had his back turned away from him, chattering away on the phone in what sounded like French. He ran a hand through his hair and Ianto paused to admire the way Jack's hair stood up in defiant spikes. For a single mad moment, Ianto was tempted to smooth the wayward strands. However, common sense made a quick return, so Ianto contented himself with placing the tray on the table and beating a quiet retreat.

"Hold it," Jack's stern voice stopped him about a foot away from the door. Ianto heard the phone being unceremoniously dropped back onto its cradle and he turned to see Jack surveying him sternly, his chin propped precariously on a pyramid formed by his hands.

"Sir, is something wrong?" Ianto asked blankly, giving the tray a cursory glance to make sure that everything was in place.

"You disobeyed me," Jack replied sharply. "What time is it, Mr. Jones?"

Ianto looked down at his watch. "Er... seven fifty-two, sir."

Jack leaned back into his chair victoriously. "Exactly," he gloated. "And if I remember, I told you to be here exactly at eight o'clock." Ianto closed his eyes in defeat, suddenly realizing his mistake. Jack smirked and twirled a pen nimbly through his fingers. "So, now what do I do? I obviously have to discipline you, Ianto."

Ianto felt a tremble run through him at the mention of 'discipline.' "What-" He stopped, his throat suddenly parched. He licked his lips carefully. "What do you have in mind, sir?" he asked. Jack was regarding him silently, making Ianto all too aware of himself. But just as Ianto began to feel the first pangs of panic, Jack leaned over, pulled another coffee cup from his desk and sat it down with a clunk.

"Sit down, Jones," Jack ordered, pouring a second cup of coffee. "We're going to sit down and chat."

"About what?" Ianto asked, eyeing the cup-and Jack- warily.

Jack actually managed a decent pout. "You don't have to sound so guarded. We're just going to chat, Ianto, isn't that what office people do? Go on coffee breaks, gossip about their bosses-"

"You're my boss," Ianto pointed out. "And most aren't gossiping under orders."

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Yes well, this is Torchwood; we can only be so normal." His eyes softened. "But if you need a little bit of normal, Ianto, then I'll help you find it. If it helps you remember that there's more to life than the next crisis lurking around the corner, I can do normal." Ianto bit back his scoff but Jack must have caught his incredulous look. "I can do normal," he repeated, before pausing and allowing himself a brief grin. "Well, normal-ish. Too much normal is bad for your health." He held out the cup to Ianto. "Sit."

Ianto's hand curled around the cup as he slid into the chair, the heat warming his fingers. He finally looked up to meet Jack's eyes, turning the cup slowly in his hands. Jack smiled, not one of his film star affairs, but a small and timid thing. This was new ground for them, whatever this was. Ianto felt himself smile back as he took a careful sip of his coffee.

It felt good.

xXx

((Thanks again for the support and I hope you all will tune in to my next story. Is there anything you'd like to see? I am certainly open to requests, if you can think of something, feel free to pm me or even request it in your review *wink wink*. I am so proud to have finished this piece and I have you all to thank. Please let me know what you think.))


End file.
